This yere leapt, and the leap day was the morrow after the feast Terminalia.

[…] Mr. Sylvestre shows just as much talent with charcuterie. His pork terrine […] interleaves succulent hunks of various meaty cuts between thick veins of milky lardo.

The antibiotics are working a treat and he's full of beans. Too many beans, actually. He's asleep now. She gestured to the chaos of the sitting room.

The roads gradually broadened as we drove into the countryside.